


Yesterday

by mchicken



Series: The Beatles Trilogy Plus One [4]
Category: The Streets of San Francisco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 01:51:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16296023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mchicken/pseuds/mchicken





	1. Chapter 1

_**The 50** _ _**th** _ _**Anniversary of the release of "St. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" album by the Beatles got me thinking about my stories of the red bandana. So here is part four of the trilogy. (ala Douglas Adams) It would be helpful to have knowledge of the other three, "I Wanna Hold Your Hand," "In My Life" and "She's Leaving Home." The standard disclaimers apply, Not My Circus, Not My Monkeys. Sure wish they were.** _

Steve rifled through the albums one handed, looking for something to take his mind off the pain. He found his battered copy of Sgt. Pepper and awkwardly put it on the turntable. Dropping back to the couch, he carefully shielded his damaged shoulder. He let the intriguing melodies of the groundbreaking album distract him while he waited for the pain killers to kick in.

Yesterday had started off in an ordinary way, but turned ugly in a hurry. A footrace, tumble and dislocated shoulder were his reward for the dutiful execution of his duty. It didn't matter that it was  _only_ a dislocation with a few bone chips, it hurt plenty. Add to it the inconvenience of being trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey for the foreseeable future and Steve had plenty of reasons to be unhappy.

He continually shifted his position, with eyes closed, waiting for relief. It didn't come until after he'd flipped the LP to side two. The soothing sitar of "Within You Without You" and the pain meds hit at the same moment. He drifted serenely along with the music until his temporary bliss was shattered by several loud knocks on his front door.

 _Who the hell?_  He thought as he pried himself from the comfort of the sofa.

The knocking persisted until he swung the door open revealing a cheerful Jeannie Stone on the landing.

"You look terrible!" she chirped as she breezed by him. A full sack of groceries filled her arms. Steve wasn't even aware that she had returned to San Francisco for the summer.

"Thanks, um, what are you doing here?"

"Mike figured as much." Jeannie replied cryptically peering into the empty refrigerator. "He knew you wouldn't have anything in the house to eat." She turned to see Steve shamble into the kitchen.

"What are you doing here?" he repeated.

"Making dinner." Jeannie continued to load the fridge.

With a huff, Steve dropped onto a kitchen chair. "You know I am capable of dialing the phone. I was gonna get takeout."

"Sure you were." She slammed the door of the fridge and picked up the prescription bottle from the counter. "You know you are supposed to take these with food. When was the last time you ate?"

He thought hard about the question. "Breakfast."

"Today?"

Steve attempted a one shoulder shrug.

"Just like I thought.  _Men."_ she added under her breath as she rooted in the cabinet for a skillet.

The final piano cord sounded from "A Day in the Life" and Steve got up to switch the record, knowing he wasn't going to win a battle with any Stone today. He double stacked the White Album on the turntable so he wouldn't have to go back to it for a while and returned to the kitchen. Jeannie was just putting the finishing touches on an omelet.

He sat down as she placed the plate in front of him, adding a glass of milk on the side. "Eat."

"Yes Ma'am," he replied sarcastically as she sat in the chair opposite his.

Jeannie smiled and winked.

"When did you get back?" he asked between mouthfuls. The fact that he could speak was an accomplishment. He had no idea he was so hungry.

"Two days ago, didn't Mike tell you?"

"No."

"Wait till I get ahold of him."

Steve finished the eggs and downed the milk in one. "Thanks you, I guess I was hungry. You know you didn't need to do this."

"Yeah, I know, but hey what are friends for." She picked up the plate and glass, putting it in the sink and turning on the water. She opened the drawer and looked for a dish towel. "You got any clean towels?"

Steve turned and looked at the heaping basket sitting against the wall. He had intended to do laundry last night. He sighed,  _guess that isn't gonna happen._

Jeannie followed his line of sight and spied the basket. Before he could say anything, she turned off the water and scooped up the overflowing container with the box of soap powder perched on top.

"Jeannie you are NOT going to do my laundry. It's …it's just not right. No way man."

"And how do you intend to stop me, Inspector Keller? Where's the washer?"

"I don't think I'm gonna say, besides this is embarrassing."

"Jeez, I've been doing Mike's laundry for years, get over it."

"Down stairs to the left, and please keep any commentary on my clothes to yourself. I'd like to keep some of my dignity."

"You got it babe," she said with a laugh as she made her way to the door.

Steve shook his head and returned to the living room, so much for his right to privacy. Since the Stones had entered the picture, his life had become inescapably intertwined with Mike and his headstrong daughter. He might as well just roll with it.

00000

Jeannie lugged the basket down the stairs and emptied it on the counter by the washer, separating light and dark clothes. There were at least two loads. She dumped the light load into the washer and added the soap, slamming the lid of the washer home. She turned to head backs upstairs and noticed a plastic bag hooked on the bottom of the basket.


	2. Chapter 2

Jeannie opened the bag and found an old, stiff wad of red cloth. It was caked with large, crusty brown stains. She was reasonably sure they were blood and was certain that whatever the object had once been, it was ruined. Why the hell would Steve have something like this in his laundry basket? She could only guess that somehow it had been overlooked in the hamper. He always struck her as a kind of  _chuck it and get a new one_  guy.

She looked more carefully at the cloth. Even though it was marred and threadbare, a faint pattern was visible. It looked almost like a crumpled-up bandana. Almost like the… No she was being silly and sentimental. She had given that to Mike almost two years ago. Why would Steve have it? And why would it be covered in dried blood? She shook her head at the stray thought. Recalling the music Steve had on the stereo, she chalked the idea up to a Beatles-inspired daydream.

Jeannie closed the bag, washed her hands and started the washer; grabbing the mysterious relic before trotting up the stairs. If it was important enough to keep, she'd try and clean it for him. After years of doing Mike's laundry, she was pretty close to being a blood-stain expert. Restoring it would also give her an excuse to get the back story of the curious cloth.

When she opened the door, the needle on the turntable hissed on the inner track of the album. Steve was sound asleep on the couch. Happy to see him finally relaxed, Jeannie turned off the sound system and returned the LP's to their pristine white jacket. She quietly went to the kitchen and cleaned up the dishes in the sink. It was only then she addressed the blood stained cloth.

Hunting through the cabinets, she came up with a couple of possible stain removers: a bottle of white vinegar and some baking soda. That Steve had virtually no kitchen essentials in the house other than cereal and some canned soup, but had vinegar and baking soda was a question for another day.  _Maybe he was making elementary school science projects in his spare time_ , she thought with a chuckle.

She dumped the fragile scrap out of the bag and into the sink. Turning on the tap, Jeannie flushed the stain with cold water. As she worked the water through the stains, she thought again of her own prized bandana and the mysterious bearded stranger from 1966. The memory of that night was suddenly so powerful she almost felt the need to brush it away from her face. Tears came to her eyes as she remembered a special moment and a special song. She recalled her mom and how her relationship with Mike had changed that night.

Jeannie shut off the water, pulled a bowl from the cupboard and filled it part of the way with vinegar. She submerged the cloth and left it to soak. If this didn't work, she'd try the baking soda. Washing her hands one more time, she wiped the tears from her eyes, left the kitchen and returned to the living room, wandering over to Steve's record collection.

She laughed a little when she realized the vast album inventory was alphabetized by artist. Leave it to Steve. She slipped "The White Album" back into place and perused the B section, looking for a record she was pretty sure wouldn't be there. "Help" probably was a little too teeny-bopper for the handsome young detective. He would have been in college by the time it came out. She was right. The record, and the song she longed to hear, "Yesterday" was not on the shelf.

Jeannie settled for "Rubber Soul" and turned the volume down so she wouldn't wake  _Sleeping Beauty_  on the couch. Sitting on the floor right by the speaker; she closed her eyes, lost in the music and memories from a different time.

The album finished. Jeannie pulled it off the record player. When she attempted to slip it back into the jacket, it refused to slide home. She laid the LP on the carpet and flexed the cardboard sleeve, trying to see what was in the way. She upended it and a small piece of thick paper fell out.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Well I think this is finally done. To get the reference you might want to skim The Beatles Trilogy part II, "In My Life" before you read this. Hope everybody is satisfied with the denouement.** _

Jeannie carefully unfolded the small wad of paper. There was no mistaking the ticket stub. She'd looked at hers enough times over the years to know it was a match to the one she had carefully placed in her scrapbook a lifetime ago.  _Wonder where he sat_ , she thought as she checked the section, row and seat.

She dropped the ticket as if she'd been burned.  _Not possible_.

Steve was at the concert. HE WAS AT THE CONCERT. It was him! She still didn't know if the bandana in the kitchen was the same one, but if it was, as improbable as it was, the red talisman had already come full circle in some sort of karmic balancing act. Her mind was blown. Jeannie slid the album into the jacket and slipped the ticket stub alongside the LP, for some reason feeling like she was invading Steve's privacy.

The revelation left her reeling. She went to the kitchen and checked her science project. The vinegar had done a credible job on the stains, but the fabric was close to giving up the ghost, there really wasn't much left to it. Jeannie pulled it from the bowl and rinsed it with cool water, blotting it dry with paper towels on the counter. She dumped the vinegar down the drain.

Standing in the doorway, she stared at Steve, trying to compare him to his college incarnation. It was hard to see the resemblance, particularly with his eyes closed. Jeannie wondered if he had recognized her when they first met, and for some reason, kept it to himself. It did make for a better narrative, a mysterious stranger, never to be seen again. But what were the odds of him drifting back into her and Mike's life? Did he know how important that night, that advice, that random act of kindness had been?

Jeannie had to know if her hunch about the bandana's origin was on target. She dialed De Haro Street.

After several rings, Mike answered the phone.

"Daddy, it's Jeannie."

Mike steeled himself, his independent daughter never called him "daddy" unless the circumstances were dire.

"What's the matter, is something wrong? Is something wrong with Steve?"

"No, no nothing like that." She used her most calming voice, even though her emotions were as chaotic as the second day of Woodstock. Using the "D" word for the first time in a long while had activated Mike's trouble radar. "I just have a question."

"Shoot." he responded in a much more even tone.

"Remember when I went off to school freshman year, I left something for you."

"How could I forget?" Mike flashed on the oft-read letter she'd written him. "That was some letter." His eyes misted with sentiment.

"Not the letter, the bandana. What ever happened to it?"

Mike hadn't thought about the bandana for a while. After several heartbeats of silence, he gave her the answer she expected. "I gave it to Steve. Did I ever tell you about the shooting on Union Street?"

"SHOOTING? Um, no Mike." She wasn't surprised, it was just one of many incidents he kept from her.

Mike spent the next few minutes recounting the story of how Steve had come to bleed on and possess her precious red cloth."

"What brought that up after almost 2 years?"

Jeannie thought hard about her response. "Nothing, really. I was just doing the wash and Steve had one in the laundry, just made me think that's all."

"That's all?" Jeannie could plainly hear the skepticism in her father's reply.

"That's all. Love you, daddy." She hung up quickly. She was sure the ever inquiring mind of Mike Stone wouldn't leave it there if she didn't hang up right away.

There was only one way to finish this. She went back into the kitchen and searched until she found what she needed in the drawer by the fridge.

00000

Steve woke up with a start. Dusk had fallen and the room was twilit by the golden glow of a streetlight. He flipped on the end table lamp and checked his watch. It was past ten, meaning he had been asleep for over four hours. He stood up awkwardly and went into the kitchen. There was an apple and a glass of water with his prescription bottle on the counter.

He noticed something was off, his nose assaulted by the acrid smell of vinegar. He went over to the sink, but could not find the source of the odor. He also found no trace of his unexpected guest, until he saw the laundry neatly folded in the basket on the kitchen table. A note on top was pinned to a threadbare scrap of a red bandana. He'd wondered what had happened to it. Must have been at the bottom of the hamper. It seemed a lot smaller than he remembered.

_Steve, There's plenty of food in the fridge. Make sure you eat. If you need any more help, any time at all,_ _all_ __  
_you've gotta do is call and I'll be there._ _  
_ _Love, Jeannie_

He smiled and picked up the apple, munching on it as he carried the note and the remnant back into the living room. Wondering if she had put the pieces together.

He'd been floored by the power of coincidence the day they met,  _for the second time._ He had never let on.

Steve looked over to the stereo. There was a record on the turntable, needle already in place on a specific track. He knew he hadn't left it that way. Upon inspection, he discovered it was side two of "Magical Mystery Tour." A hint of a smile crossed his face. He didn't need to turn the LP on to know what song was cued up. He knew she knew. He hit the power button.

" __ **Love, Love, Love.**  
Love, Love, Love.  
Love, Love, Love.  
There's nothing you can do that can't be done.  
Nothing you can sing that can't be sung.  
Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game.  
It's easy.  
Nothing you can make that can't be made.  
No one you can save that can't be saved.  
Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you in time.  
It's easy.

__**All you need is love.**  
All you need is love.  
All you need is love, love.  
Love is all you need.

__**Nothing you can know that isn't known.**  
Nothing you can see that isn't shown.  
Nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be.  
It's easy.

__**All you need is love (All together, now!)**  
All you need is love (Everybody!)  
All you need is love, love. Love is all you need (love is all you need)."* 

00000

Mike was asleep by the time she got home. She went into the kitchen and put the kettle on, pulling the two fabric scraps out of her pocket while she waited for the water to boil. She walked to the closet and stuck one piece in the pocket of Mike's raincoat.

After she made tea, she carried it up to her room and laid the third piece on the dresser. Even though it was now cut into three, the magical artifact would always connect them.

***All You Need is Love" by Lennon/McCartney**


End file.
